All Lives End: A Love Story
by Belle D'Arcy
Summary: 'All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock.' Mycroft knows what he's talking about. This is the story of the first and only time Mycroft Holmes fell in love. This a one-off 3-chapter story. Please rate and review, so I can do better next time :)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

* * *

They were both just boys. Mycroft, more than 7 years his brother's senior, was always feeling protective of the bright selfish 14-year-old. Sherlock was not the most amiable of kids – he had sharp, humourless eyes that nothing escaped from and a mind so quick that having a conversation with him was unavoidably tiring for the one and boring for the other party. But Mycroft loved him. Quite smart himself, even if not as gifted as Sherlock, he was always finding excuses for his brother's behaviour and, in doing so, encouraging him to be proud beyond decency. Very rarely did he attempt to point to Sherlock the advantages of socialising with those less fortunate in every respect. His brother had made it his life's ambition to excel and wouldn't let some 'little ordinary people' slow him down.

Mycroft, on the other hand, was ambitious in a completely different way. He honestly wanted to save the world. He even had plans to settle down one day, to marry and have a family. He saw it more as an instrument to achieving his professional goals, but he wasn't averse to the idea of falling in love nonetheless.

Until she came and turned his world upside-down. They were at university together. He first saw her at a Psychology lecture in his second year. She looked at him and smiled. Mycroft was surprised – women had never been interested in him before. He was neither handsome nor rich. He had the clumsy, if elegant, geekiness that never goes quite out of fashion and that made him popular amongst his mates. But women his age were more into loud, muscular men who listened to rock music and did things like driving on the wrong side of the highway during their daddy-financed summers overseas.

So here was this strikingly beautiful woman staring at him, apparently deep in thought. Had she even noticed him, or was she smiling for an entirely different reason?

* * *

One week later, there she was again. This time she approached him and in a clear, emotionless voice inquired if the seat next to him was free. He nodded pensively and continued reading the politics section of the newspaper in front of him.

'You're not a psychology student.' It wasn't a question; still, Mycroft stopped reading and looked at her.

'I saw you last week,' the girl continued. 'Even then it was obvious you're only attending this course for a few selected lectures and they haven't started yet.'

Mycroft smiled but, again, didn't answer. Having a brother like Sherlock had taught him that the only way to show true appreciation without boring the person is to gently tease them until they are burning with desire to impress you.

'My name is Mycroft Holmes.' He stretched his arm as far as the space between them allowed and the girl took it.

'Katie,' said she. Just a first name. 'She wants to keep the mystery,' Mycroft thought. 'Let her believe that.' Instead, he smiled weakly again and asked:

'Why did you switch to guitar?'

'Excuse me?' Katie was surprised and still, subconsciously perhaps, she hid her hands under the desk in front of her.

'I can see you've given up playing the piano and are now learning guitar. Why? I believe the piano is one of the most beautiful instruments.'

'But it's not very rock'n'roll, is it?'

Mycroft was obviously disappointed. 'Oh, right, of course.'

* * *

Neither showed any inclination to continue the conversation. Still, there was a mischievous grin on Katie's face. Mycroft wondered if she was secretly laughing at him. During the whole lecture he followed her every action from the corner of his eye but she didn't look at him once. She was just sitting there, her elbow inches away from his, with a dreamy, smiling expression. Then the time was up and everybody was preparing to leave. Only Katie was still. She looked at the board as if she expected something to appear on it. Mycroft had packed his things but couldn't stand up because of her being in the way. He tried to cough gently. It didn't work. He'd have to talk to her.

'Uh... Katie, sorry...'

'I'd love to.'

'Pardon me?'

'I'd love to meet you for a coffee after your weekly visit to the library tomorrow afternoon around 5.'

Mycroft froze, half-sitting, half-standing. He must have looked ghastly because Katie, who had just turned around to face him, suddenly jumped to her feet and cleared the way for him to leave the bench. He stood up quickly and, without a single word, hurried to the door. It wasn't until a couple of paces later that he stopped dead and turned around, still pale but a weak smile on his lips.

'See you then.'

Katie raised her eyes to meet his and, for Mycroft's eternal surprise, blushed. Afraid that he might follow suit, he turned again and swiftly left.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

It was quarter to 5 and Mycroft was sitting in the library, barely aware of his hands turning the pages of some huge book on law history. All the clocks in the room had stopped. Mycroft was wearing his best shirt and was hoping he looked at least as smart as he felt stupid. At 4:50 he gave up and closed the books before him. He could hear his pulse quicken and realised he was afraid. Deciding he still had time to make his escape, he stuffed hurriedly everything in his bag and ran for the exit.

He was almost knocked over by the door, as it opened to let in a calm, smiling Katie.

'I thought so. You ain't getting away, mister' – she raised her eyebrows in a distantly reassuring fashion, swung around and grabbed Mycroft's arm. 'Come on then! It's nearly time!'

* * *

She wouldn't say where she was taking him. Despite that Mycroft was slowly relaxing. They were walking along busy boulevards, avoiding grumpy people going home from work. Now and then Katie would take his arm, apparently scared that they might lose each other in the crowd. This was Mycroft's kingdom. He felt safe among all those strangers who neither noticed nor cared for him. But every time Katie's gentle hand touched his elbow he felt a sudden desire to be somebody, to impress her and to somehow deserve her interest.

That confused him, her interest. He couldn't even start understanding her motives. She seemed to be genuinely attracted to him. But why, WHY?

He was dragged back to reality, literally. Katie had stopped and was pulling at his hand to bring him to a halt.

'We're here.'

For the first time she looked anxious.

'Ready?'

'There're no cafés round here.'

Katie laughed heartily and produced a thermos flask from her bag.

'Here – tea, as promised.'

'But you said...'

'I know I said coffee but you don't drink coffee so I thought I'll be nice and make us both tea.'

'I DO drink coffee,' Mycroft protested, glad he could prove her wrong.

'Although you shouldn't. Coffee makes you irritable and restless. And pale as a ghost, I dare add.'

Mycroft opened his mouth to answer and then closed it again. It was pointless – Katie was already ahead of him, entering the nearest building – a very tall glass business centre.

In the elevator Katie finally turned back to Mycroft.

'I've been keeping an eye on you, you know, and there are some things I still don't understand.'

'What things?'

'All in good time.'

'Does your fetish for rooftops have anything to do with your father caring you on his shoulders as a child?'

Katie simply shrugged and faced the elevator door as it opened to let them out.

They were on the roof, some 600 ft from the ground. Mycroft approached the edge cautiously and looked down. His heart rose in his throat and panic blurred his vision. Stepping back, he realised that Katie was right behind him, blocking his way back to safety.

'Get on the ledge,' she whispered in his ear.

He turned around and faced her. She was no more than a feet away from him now. Her slender figure exuded a distinctive but unidentifiable scent. Her eyes, cold and blue, were half-closed and she was looking at him through her eyelashes.

'It's question time, mister. Get on the ledge.'

And Mycroft did. Weak and trembling with fear, he stepped on the thin wall, trying not to look down. Managing a tired smile, he looked directly at Katie.

'What would you like to know?'

'Are you gay?'

'Are these going to be yes or no questions only?'

'Are you?'

'No.'

'What is the first thing you see when you wake up?'

'Light.'

'Have you ever been in love before?'

'Before what?'

'Before me.'

'No. What makes you think...'

'Do you feel inferior to your brother?' Katie interrupted him.

'Who told you that?'

'Does he make you feel stupid?'

'Sometimes.'

'If you could be anybody for a day, who would you choose?'

'You.'

'Why?'

'I want to know why you like me.'

'What makes you think I like you?'

'You're standing too close.'

'Are you afraid of me?

'Should I be?'

As he said it, Mycroft jumped from the ledge, slid behind Katie's back, turned her around and caught her with one arm before she fell over the edge.

'My turn. Will you marry me?'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

* * *

Katie's eyes, already wide with fear, became even wider. She studied his face, her own expression serious for the first time today. Finally she smiled again.

'No.'

And after a short pause.

'Not before you kiss me anyway.'

* * *

They were happy in the calm, logical way that only two very clever people who have found an equal can be. Deciding to please their parents, they let others organise their wedding and concentrated on getting to know each other and making plans for healing the world. Katie was a bit more grounded, more cynical and made it her ambition to get Mycroft into politics.

'I could never make it, I am much too pretty,' she would say and Mycroft would giggle despite himself. 'But you, with your enormous nose and sharp eyes – you'd make a perfect Prime Minister.'

Sometimes they would jump in the car, drive outside town and find a quiet spot on a country field. They would lie comfortably on the bonnet of the car, breathe deep and just enjoy each other's company, often without saying a word. This, however, was not meant to last. As it usually happens with extraordinary people, Katie was a bit too much for the world to handle.

It was a windy Friday afternoon in late February about a year after their engagement, when Katie felt obliged to visit her parents for a weekend of home-made food and sitting in front of the ancient fireplace. Mycroft offered to drive her but she preferred some alone time so he accompanied her to London Bridge station instead. They arrived early and decided to have a cup of tea at the platform.

'If the train crashes, at least we know one of us will survive to carry on the good deed,' Katie mused between sips.

'How can you be sure I'd go on without you to inspire me?'

'You must. For otherwise my life would have meant nothing.'

Mycroft didn't answer. He didn't like serious, sad conversations and it seemed that Katie was in no mood for any other type. So they just drank their tee in silence, sitting very close to each other and feeling content even in the evening winter chill.

'It's nearly time. I'll just pop to the loo first. Be right back,' Katie gave him an affectionate peck on the cheek and ran on.

She was gone less than 5 minutes when there was a loud explosion from the direction of the toilets.

* * *

The funeral was smooth, almost cosy. There was no drama, no hysterical relatives or embarrassing speeches. Mycroft had invited his family and all but his brother attended. Sherlock had been nowhere to be found the whole day and Mycroft suspected he was trying to avoid the pool of emotion that funerals unleash even in the most conservative of people. Seeing him grieve must have scared his brother, or so Mycroft thought.

On the way back from the graveyard Mycroft's mother took his arm. She had been very quiet in his presence the last days, only trusting herself with a sad smile each time they were alone in a room. Now she leaned close to him and almost whispered in his ear.

'Don't let her go, son. I have never seen you happier and braver than in this last year. Don't allow her memory to fade. Cherish her.'

'You know, mother, that's exactly what she said.'

They walked a couple of minutes in silence until Mycroft spoke again.

'She asked me to promise her I wouldn't give up on our dreams, no matter what.'

'And that's exactly what you will do. You won't allow a mindless act of terrorism to ruin your entire life.'

'You are right. If there is one thing I can do, it is to make sure no one ever feels what I am feeling right now. She...' His voice trembled. 'Katie. Katie wanted me to become a Prime Minister.' He laughed dryly. 'I don't think I want that any more. I'd prefer to make real difference.'

His mother squeezed his hand reassuringly.

'I understand, son.'

* * *

It was late that evening when Sherlock finally came home. His parents were sleeping but Mycroft was still sitting in the living room, an untouched glass full of whiskey in his hand. Only the soft glow of the dying fire illuminated his face. His sad, thoughtful face. He looked up when Sherlock came in the room and gestured towards the liquor cabinet. Sherlock shook his head and sat himself in the armchair opposite.

'I'm sorry for Katie. I know you cared about her.'

'Don't be. All lives end. All hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage.'

They sat in silence for some more minutes. Mycroft didn't even look at his brother. Then he suddenly rose, drank his whiskey in one giant gulp and barked:

'Don't ever mention her again, OK?'

Then he stormed out of the room.

* * *

Sherlock didn't know it yet, but in the years to come Mycroft would make it the purpose of his life to protect his little brother from such a fate like his. He'd teach Sherlock, encourage him to be detached and cold by giving him his example. Without admitting it, Sherlock would look up to his brother, seeing how he works his way up the social hierarchy, and admire his composure and professionalism. In moments of weakness, Sherlock would find refuge in aggression and drugs, Mycroft – in food. They'd always be the two sides of the same coin.

* * *

Sherlock remained in his seat for a long hour before he sighed and a cold, determined expression set on his handsome young face. 'Caring is not an advantage...' he whispered to himself as he went to bed.


End file.
